Don't paint wonderful lies on me that wash away
Glad for the questions because they forced her to focus on something, Maea turned to face Charlie and grimaced lightly. "In essence, but add a room with only one entrance, threats hanging in the air, the stench of fear and no one breathing because they're waiting to see if a head will roll. Then you're spot on." Red spots blazed on her cheeks. Without the stone to help her ruin the edge of her dagger she couldn't keep chipping at the rock, so she resorted to pacing instead. The skirts hampered her tail, kept it from swishing freely - in the low light of the cavern she felt trapped, closed in, reliving the suffocating moment in her office all over again.
"Well... I wouldn't leave, for one," she replied, bending her thoughts to what regrets she had about the fiasco. "And I would ask why there had to be an infant at a meeting, and I would choose a different location. But I wouldn't alter my action. Or my words. As far as I recall I was perfectly polite. No, there was no invitation for her. 'You were not invited. Please leave." Maea positively quivered with the strain of regulating her tone. "And when none of the others said a word in protest against either me or her, and she asked if I had made a mistake - clearly expecting me to change my mind or die - I answered that apparently I was since no one else was doing anything." Details. In grueling, almost loving detail she would describe what had happened, pick it apart piece by piece to uncover exactly how she had endangered everyone simply for stating the truth.
"That's beside the point, though. It's the fact that I was the least powerful person in the room save for the infant, in just as much danger as everyone else, but when I dared to take a stance I'm called reckless, endangering others, a martyr with a hero complex - oh, and apparently that meeting wasn't worth risking anything for, so it's apparently fine that the woman was able to find out about it, show up in the middle of the region without being stopped, threatened everyone and left without being stopped. Apparently it's pointless to try and fight that so we should just keep heads down and play along with the game, whatever the fuck that means."
Maybe if she'd had something to bite, this would start to feel better. Maybe if she thought killing something and soaking herself in blood wouldn't make her feel worse, hunting really might help. Black and purple somethings, that she didn't have to feel remorse for; maybe actually chipping away at the massive threat looming over her head would ease the gnawing, persistent dread that fueled this hectic need to act.
"Well... I wouldn't leave, for one," she replied, bending her thoughts to what regrets she had about the fiasco. "And I would ask why there had to be an infant at a meeting, and I would choose a different location. But I wouldn't alter my action. Or my words. As far as I recall I was perfectly polite. No, there was no invitation for her. 'You were not invited. Please leave." Maea positively quivered with the strain of regulating her tone. "And when none of the others said a word in protest against either me or her, and she asked if I had made a mistake - clearly expecting me to change my mind or die - I answered that apparently I was since no one else was doing anything." Details. In grueling, almost loving detail she would describe what had happened, pick it apart piece by piece to uncover exactly how she had endangered everyone simply for stating the truth.
"That's beside the point, though. It's the fact that I was the least powerful person in the room save for the infant, in just as much danger as everyone else, but when I dared to take a stance I'm called reckless, endangering others, a martyr with a hero complex - oh, and apparently that meeting wasn't worth risking anything for, so it's apparently fine that the woman was able to find out about it, show up in the middle of the region without being stopped, threatened everyone and left without being stopped. Apparently it's pointless to try and fight that so we should just keep heads down and play along with the game, whatever the fuck that means."
Maybe if she'd had something to bite, this would start to feel better. Maybe if she thought killing something and soaking herself in blood wouldn't make her feel worse, hunting really might help. Black and purple somethings, that she didn't have to feel remorse for; maybe actually chipping away at the massive threat looming over her head would ease the gnawing, persistent dread that fueled this hectic need to act.
